


You say (...and I believe)

by RiddleRedCoats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (I hope), Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Death Eaters, F/M, Good Sister Narcissa Malfoy, Internal musings, Introspection, Lucius/Narcissa - Freeform, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Tasteful Smut, during the Order of The Phoenix, not much dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleRedCoats/pseuds/RiddleRedCoats
Summary: Two months after the mass breakout at Azkaban and life at Malfoy Manor has not returned to what people want it to be. Voldemort is busy trying to rebuild from nothing, Narcissa is busy making sure everything stays as calm as possible, and Bellatrix is busy falling apart every other night.But this time... This time Voldemort has had enough.





	You say (...and I believe)

**Author's Note:**

> Look there are 5,000 words to this and only like 1,000 are smut.   
> So, yeah.

The grounds around the famed Malfoy Manor were encircled in within a thick, grey fog giving the extravagant, ancient Manor an eerier look than usual. From afar, one could see all the windows of the Manor closed and dark, painting an even sinister view of the columned, dark building. The wind howled through the trees ripping the brown leaves off their canopies dumping them harshly on the lake causing ripples along the water; the maze that ran along and around the Manor swayed under the screaming wind.

Narcissa woke with a start as a door slammed shut. Her first thought was of Draco, but he was at Hogwarts after spending the Yule break at home. Then her thoughts turned to her husband, but the comforting heat his body gave was reliably at her side. Then, finally, as the memories of the past months overcame her instincts, her thoughts quickly ran to her sister.

She swiftly rose from the bed – careful to not wake up Lucius who had no love to lose for her sister – and put on her silver robe over the tasteful white nightgown she wore. She quietly stepped out of her chambers and the small private room she kept, and into the chilling corridors of the Manor.

She quietly passed the bedrooms she had given to the Death Eaters that had been rescued from Azkaban. She passed Rabastian’s rooms, which were always warded to make sure the man didn’t wake anyone with his screams and that he didn’t leave. She passed Yaxley’s rooms, who spent all hours of the night dragging his wooden leg over the rooms’ wooden floors. She passed Rodolphus’ rooms, which were always eerily quiet. On and on and on… Around 20 men were living in her house, with many more coming and going at their pleasure… It was a struggle.

Soon she reached the last room in that floor before the staircase to the other wing of the Manor, the room that she had saved for her sister… The room that was always empty. She paused in front of it, she knew it was pointless to try and find her sister there. She was always in the wing of the last floor of the Mansion.

She turned to enter through a hidden door that led to a staircase towards that aforementioned last floor of the Manor. And she began her climb through the stairs.

They – her sister and the Dark Lord, that is – had a whole wing for themselves. A wing of the Manor that Narcissa, even during the long years when the Dark Lord had been… unavailable…, had avoided like the plague. And now she had to travel to it constantly, because her sister – her strong, capable, independent sister – couldn’t take care of herself, and while her body healed slowly, her mind still rotted in that hell-hole of a prison Bellatrix couldn’t seem to escape, no matter how many days, weeks and months passed since her rescue.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself before stepping into the wing’s ante-chamber. She passes the threshold to the Dark Lord’s sanctuary and walks past the small library and living room and straight to the door of the chambers he shares with her sister. With another deep breath, she knocks on the door.

When no one answered, Narcissa cursed every God she knew of, and with a prayer for her soul should she walk in and rise the Dark Lord’s temper, she opened the door which ranged as it moved. She entered the room and stayed at the threshold, having no desire to actually be tortured to an inch of her life. She heard a mumble coming from a too low a voice to belong to her sister.

“Someone better be dying.” The Dark Lord’s high voice was rough, having just woken up from whatever deep slumber he had been enthralled to.

“Bellatrix.” It’s all Narcissa has to say before the Dark Lord quickly looked to his side. To where her sister should be… but is not.

Instead, she heard him whisper, “Oh. Not again…”

She quickly averted her eyes from him because it felt like she was intruding on something she was not meant to; like this was his life with her sister and she was being given these small peaks of it because of her proximity and not because they were a normal couple who shared their life for others but for themselves only. It was something Narcissa herself craved but due to her status was unable to enjoy. Yes, there were parts of her marriage with Lucius that were theirs alone but most of it was shared with the rest of the pureblood society as was expected of her. The Dark Lord and her sister seemed disinclined to do that, preferring to keep their relationship just that, **_theirs_**.

She watched him rise from the bed, with only a pair of trousers he had perhaps been too tired to take off. He was always tired now; his organization was in shambles and his best soldier in constant need of care. His time was doubly precious, and he often burned through several sets of candles a night trying to catch up to all that was happening. Still, when he sat up and made a move to leave the bed, Narcissa’s eyes couldn’t help but gaze at him.

He was… ‘handsome’ was perhaps the wrong word, but by the Gods, there was something incredibly alluring about him. She had felt it before when he’d been younger, during the First War, when he’d spend entire parties charming everyone around him and dancing with various women (although, always managing to end the night with her sister in his arms); **_then_** it had been normal, but **_now_**? With his terrifying red eyes and his too harsh face? Narcissa decided, through a mild panic, that some sort of magic was responsible for it all.

“We have more pressing concerns than the fact you find me attractive.” His voice, still rough from sleep didn’t help matters, even if his words did break whatever weird spell he had her under. Still, she flushes a slight red at being found out, she’d have to remember to put up her occlumency shields up around him every time.

“You are right, My Lord.” Narcissa deferred to him, only needlessly to add, “We need to find my sister.”

“I’ll take care of it, Cissa.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes, still sleep addled, “Go back to your husband.”

Narcissa suppressed a shudder at having her nickname from childhood given to her by her eldest sister – her **_only_** sister, her mind insisted – falling from his nearly lipless mouth so casually. It showed a familiarity that didn’t exist. It showed just how much her sister shared of herself with this… God? Monster?... **_Man_**?

Still, Narcissa couldn’t help but relax at his words. If he was going to take care of it, then Bellatrix would be fine; there was no one else that could calm her sister like he could, even Narcissa herself barely managed. And even if she had never believed it before, she did now: he would not allow any harm to come to her sister, not if he could help it. It was a dangerous thing to know, but there was not a single doubt in her mind about it.

Narcissa bowed in deference, “As you wish, my Lord.” Before turning however she asked the still drowsy man, “May I take my leave?”

The Dark Lord seemed to not have heard her. He seemed lost in thought, but Narcissa could feel a prickle of magic radiating from him and she had an epiphany; he was contacting her sister, trying to find her through the mark or trying to find her mind to clamber into. When the terrifying red eyes seemed to refocus, Narcissa watched them narrow at her and she swallowed the lump of fear that clogged her throat.

She, however, did not need to speak because the Dark Lord rose to his full height, and the heavy dark robes that were draped over the chair in the corner were suddenly wrapping themselves around the willowy frame of the man. Once he was fully dressed, he turned to her and hissed.

“You may leave.” The words seemed drowned out and dragged over. “Go, Narcissa.”

 Narcissa nodded and with another bow, she left the room and quickly made her way back to her chambers. As she quietly walked pass the chilling corridors of her Manor she couldn’t help but hear the Dark Lord with his step seemingly at a near run, rushing over to where the door that had initially awakened her. She sighed, at least her sister would be back soon.

She entered her bedroom, dark from the lack of light and as she quickly and quietly got rid of her robe a voice startles her.

“What’s wrong?” Lucius’ voice echoed in their chambers.

Narcissa quietly whispered back, “Nothing, dear. It’s being taken care of.”

As she finishes taking off her robe she heard Lucius grunt in agreement and quickly go back to sleep. Narcissa feels a fond smile settle on her lips, both her husband and her son could sleep through a hurricane and very little kept them awake if they happened to wake up in the middle of the night.

Narcissa sighed as she settled deep into the sheets and into her husband’s sleepy embrace. Her mind ran in circles from her family to Bellatrix, to the Dark Lord and back… She knew, somehow, she knew she’d have to make a choice eventually, either combining all those into a single priority or make do with the fact that she’d have to lose someone dear to her very soon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This had been happening too often for Voldemort’s tastes. Bellatrix running away in the middle of the night lost in a hallucination brought by a decade of people and dementors playing with her mind, of bad sleep cycles and undernourishment. He had caught her often at the beginning of such episodes and had dealt with it before it got out of hand. But tonight he’d been too tired and had slept through it.

These episodes that she had were the only thing Bellatrix was doing these days; she didn’t eat, rarely spoke, didn’t practice spells, didn’t try to get better… Voldemort was reaching the end of his rope. He wondered what the point of all of this was exactly when he passed the threshold from inside the Manor and into the chilling winds outside.

His tired eyes travelled the extent of the estate trying to find a figment of Bellatrix. He knew she was outside, he’d felt the wind on his skin when he’d connected with her. He searched from right to left, his enhanced sight allowing him to see better than most. As he passed a particularly tricky spot, something caught his attention.

 ** _There_**.

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her white nightgown swinging with the wind. He had her now. Everything was fine, soon they’d be back in bed. And then he saw the direction she was running towards.

The lake.

A chill that had nothing to do with the wind ran down his spine.

Voldemort rushed behind her, but she, spooked by the following footsteps only seemed to run faster in the direction of the lake. When he finally caught up with her, it was too late. He watched with a wince as she screamed when she entered the freezing cold water of the Malfoy lake. Still, determined to catch her to stop from doing-… whatever the hell she was doing, before she got herself killed, Voldemort braced himself as he too walked straight into the lake.

Bellatrix for her part tried to swim but the run had tired her out more than she’d been counting on. So for now, she settled for trying to escape him, trying to escape his grasp. She kept muttering things too, indecipherable things muted by her chattering jaw. He caught glimpses of it through splashing water, it sounded like spells maybe. In whatever scenario her mind had conjured up, she was clearly in the middle of a fight.

In a stroke of luck – the first of the night – he managed to grab her by her waist, luckily her back was to his front and she was unable to strike him or punch him.

He grasped her to him, and whispered, trying to pull her back towards him, “Bella…” he leaned his head against hers even as she struggled against him – no, not **_him_** but against something that wasn’t there. He let her tire herself out, there was nothing else he could do. He still held on to her, not giving her another chance to go further into the chilling waters.

She struggled, and cursed and battled for a while… All to no vain. He was stronger than her, had always been ever since the transformation had taken place, but even more so now that she was so weakened. She tired herself out trying to escape his embrace, and when her struggles stopped she collapsed back into his arms, trembling.

“Don’t let me drown.” She begged, finally free of nightmare within her mind. For tonight, at least.  

He said nothing else, he knew she didn’t want any empty promises or any word that her mind could conjure up on its own. So he held her to him, giving her something that she could never confuse for imagination or hallucination. He held her against his chilled body, his soaking robe, and his trembling limbs. He held her until her own trembling subsided to something that could be attributed to their wet clothes and the still whistling wind.

With a steadier hand than he thought himself capable of, he led her away from the freezing waters and into the shore and then into the gardens of the enormous Manor.

“I c-can’t.” She trembled. “Please just let me-…”

“It’s alright.” He whispered against her, willing her to listen to him. “You’re strong. We’re almost there.”

He half-carried her, half-pulled her towards their wing of the Manor, a hidden passage known only to him and Lucius served its purpose as it directly deposed them at the entrance of their wing. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort **accio** ’d two vials of a yellow liquid. With perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary, he shoved her into their ensuite.

“Here.” He forced a potion down her throat and then another for him. “Now, a warm bath and this little incident will be but a memory in the morning.”

Bellatrix nodded at him, arms around herself and then with a jerk of her head mentioned for him to open the tab of warm water for her. With a flick of his Yew wand, Voldemort filled the bathtub to the near brim of its capacity with warm, steaming water.

Bellatrix turned from him to start disrobing of her robe.

“I’ll go to the other bathroom.” He said already turning around and leaving her to her ablutions.

He left their ensuite with a sure step and went into the guest bathroom. In there, he quickly ran the water hot and stepped into it. With an efficient hand, he washed over all the grim of the outside and warmed his oversensitive limbs. He swiftly stepped out of the bath and went into their bedroom once again. She was already there, in a simple black robe, having also made quick work in the bath.

The cup of tea he had had the Elf prepare for them was already poured and ready to be consumed. Voldemort went further into the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed while Bellatrix sat in the loveseat farthest from the window.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the cups levitated from the plate and into their hands. They sat there, in silence, sipping their tea. Tensions grew, and when Voldemort couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he spoke, a muted tone in his voice.

“What happened?” He asked, sitting in front of her, towel around his shoulders and leaning forward resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his fingers trying to calm his still-racing heart and gain some semblance of why she’d just tried to-… He shuddered to think it. Bellatrix was too **_proud_** _,_ too brave, too stubborn to do something as incredibly stupid as to try and kill herself… But she **_had_** jumped into the freezing cold water.

Bellatrix sighed as she set the teacup down, and he watched as her eyes remained on the cup seemingly unable to look him in the eyes as she gave her answer, “I was sleeping.” She started and shrugged helplessly. “… I heard water.”

She ended the phrase there as if it explained everything. Which, he supposed, it did. Azkaban was an island, she had probably thought she was back in that 10 by 10 cell wasting her days away waiting for him to come back and get her. She had run to the water in an effort to escape from the prison. He closed his eyes, despondent that all of this had happened over a prophecy, over a stupid worthless **_child._**  

“They’ll never take you again.” Voldemort tried his rarely used comforting strategy. And with a sincere vow, swore to Bellatrix, “I promise you.”

Bellatrix looked at him, near agape, “…Promise?” A long pause before she laughs, almost hysterically, nearly shrieking, with a bitter amusement Voldemort is oblivious to. She then seems to get a hold of herself, though barely, and furiously rose from her seat while her stormy-grey eyes, clouded with tears bore into his with a vengeance, “You dare talk to me of promises, Tom Riddle? You, who’ve made me countless of them, and I’ve fallen for them hook, line, and sinker. No more.” She vowed.     

“Bellatrix, you’re way out of line,” he warns, his red eyes flaming with her tone, though he felt an immeasurable sense of accomplishment. He rose to meet her halfway. She was arguing, she was **_feeling_** something, she was… It was almost like having the old Bella back. Even when her words stung.

She steps closer to him, their faces mere centimetres apart, “Tell me I’m lying… Tell me you haven’t promised me countless things. Tell me you haven’t whispered them into my ear while we **_fucked_** on this very bed. Tell you didn’t-…” She snarled, and her breath tickled his face even as her words were biting. “TELL ME I’M **_LYING_** _,_ YOU UNFEELING-…”

Her words were muffled when he brought her closer to him, hugging her haggard frame to his wiry one. He felt her tense under his embrace, and then in a sudden burst, she collapsed in his arms as all energy seemed to leave her and all the emotional toll caught up with her. She clung to him and although she was sobbing, there was more movement than sound. He held her tighter.

“Scream.” He whispered in her ear.

“W-What?” She rose her head from his chest and her breathing made her stutter.

“Scream.” He repeats. He had seen the minds of his men, how they’d wanted to scream but were unable to due to the prison guards’ spells and beatings if anything other than a murmur was heard.

Bellatrix’ lower lip trembled at his request, seeming unable to grasp the freedom she was being given. He nodded at her, giving her the go ahead. Trembling, Bellatrix laid her wild black-haired head against his chest, she breathed very heavily before taking a deep breath and just releasing all the frustrations, hurt, sorrow, anger, and just-plain desperation in an all-consuming, almost deafening scream, right into his chest.

When she seems spent and her legs could barely hold her up, Voldemort held her up, his strength enough for them both. She panted loudly, trying to gulp air back into her lungs. As he got himself ready to speak to her, she laid her head against his chest again and let out another wordless scream, this time almost freeing and healing. He held her through it all, mostly due to having no other choice in the matter but also because he felt it was the only thing he could do for her.

Soon enough, she tired herself out almost completely.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered tiredly, her voice hoarse from the screaming. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I said before.”

Voldemort snorted, amused by her apology, “Yes, you did.” He shook his head and sighed, “And you’re right, I’ve made you countless promises and I’ve nary kept them. But look at me,” He demanded, and she obeyed. Their eyes met as he made sure that she heard his next words clearly, “I’d kill everyone who’d try. But more important than that, I’d kill you first before I’d ever let them take you,”

The words which would have sent a chill down anyone’s back seemed to relax Bellatrix even further into his embrace. He was glad that he still had the ability to say the right thing at the right time. And while he’d spoken nothing but the truth, it went deeper than wanting to protect her. She was dominated by her demons, and he couldn’t imagine a situation much worse than this, she was near useless and he’d have killed her long ago, as mercy it nothing else, but for one simple fact.

“You’re mine.” He near growled. “You’re mine.” He repeated.

Bellatrix clung to him, and nodded into his chest, “You say I am strong… And I can’t believe that, not when I feel so weak.” Voldemort feels a chill run down his spine; Bellatrix always believed him, it was a staple of their relationship, her trust in him. “You tell me everything is going to be fine, and I just- I just can’t.” He tightens his grip, not wanting to hear her doubt him anymore. But again, she surprises him, she lifts her head from his chest to look him in the eyes, her own damp with tears, “But when you say I’m yours… I believe. And just like that, you remind me of who I am.”

Voldemort looks down to her and feels his chest fill with the unbearable need to kiss her. He lowers his head to hers and for the first time in a decade and a half, their lips touch. And something slides into place.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He was holding her so harshly. His hands felt heavy on her skin, his grip near bruising but she revelled in it. His kisses were demanding and possessive, but she never felt freer. She felt his hands – colder than she remembered, but warmer than she’d felt in years – fiddle with the knot of the only piece of clothing she was wearing, his fingers parted her robe a little sideways off her shoulder and descended to tease the nub of her breast.

Need pounded in her skull even as her heartbeat dropped between her legs, throbbing in her core.

“The candles…” She whispered between bruising kisses, not wanting to break the intimacy of their embrace, “Can we…?” Before she could finish her sentence, he quickly extinguished the flames from the candles, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t ready for him to see her completely, not yet, anyway. And she figured he wasn’t ready for her to seem him too. No, no, no… Touching was far better, more intimate, and yet, less invasive than looking.

He brought their lips together again and guided her into the bed. She laid back with him on top of her, in the crumpled sheets. It was less-exciting position than those of better times, but it was much more personal, leaving them face to face in the darkness of their bedroom. He kept kissing her, again and again, leaving her lips red and bruised while his hands undressed both of them. Once they found themselves naked, he leaned over to ask her.  

“Ready?” He mumbled into her mouth.

In response, Bellatrix tightened her grip on him and moved against him, giving the go-ahead. Voldemort nodded against her forehead before angling himself up to line up with her entrance. With a slow movement, he thrust a little inside her.

She gasped, “Ah, it hurts.” She closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders.

She felt him looking down at her, tilting his head to look at her to make sure she wanted him to continue; there was a grimace on her face, she knew, but she kept clinging to him, kept him in place, and even if she was not moving against him, there was a pleasant tremor starting from within her. She didn’t want him to stop.

He lowered his lips to her, kissing her while she felt him enter the rest of the way, slowly, carefully, giving her ample time to stop should she wish to. But Bellatrix wished for no such thing and instead carved her nails into his back, feeling every centimetre of him stretching her and entering her as if were their first time. She gasped and clung tighter when he found himself buried inside her to the hilt. He pulled his mouth away from hers with unsteady gaping and let it rest on her neck while she adjusted to feeling him inside, and while his movement might be slow and soft, his mouth is not, leaving behind a trail of darkening bruises she’ll cherish in the morning.

She whimpered into his ear when he pulled back and then carefully pushed himself inside, again. She felt him nestle within her, and then slowly move in and then out of her. He rolled into her with a purpose. Still slow. And deep. And steady. She trembled within his arms; it was always like this, he had a way of rousing things within her, of sowing forth things from her body, from her heart, from her very magic no matter how insecure, how cold, how dismantled she felt. She spread her legs further, tilting her hips, not moving, or urging further, merely giving him more access.

Masterful. That was it. The way he made love to her – because that was what it was, no matter what he’d claim – was masterful. It was unrelenting. And possessive. And selfish, and reassuring, and satisfying. Pulling in all directions, leaving Bellatrix defenceless against it all.

The rhythm had shifted from the hard, fast pace it had been 14 years before, and was now lauded with slow and deep thrusts, as if they were adapting to one another again, as if they were rebuilding themselves back up from the tatters of their former selves, as if with each thrust he was claiming her over and over again. He was giving her exactly what she wanted; lasting memories, deep unchangeable marks on her mind – on her body, on her soul, on her magic – so that she would never forget what made them, them.

Heat build itself slowly from within, warming every part of her, thawing her from inside out, freeing her from the ever-frozen hell she had been living in for the past decade. Hotter and hotter, until her hair clung to her sweaty forehead, and her cheeks flushed for the first time in years, and their clammy bodies stuck together with every move. And then, the building heat suddenly reached its threshold.

It was not a thunderous fall, or a mind shattering release, not even an especially long and satisfying orgasm. But it was healing, and grounding and oh-so-familiar. She felt a single tear fall from her eyes, glad that she could feel some shred of herself coming back to her, relieved that she could feel anything else but the freezing cold inside of her.

On top of her, Voldemort held on to her as she trembled from her release, and with still slow and deep thrusts suddenly relaxed as he too found his simple release. He grunted one final time and let himself fall on top of her, and slowly pulled out of her. He felt her breathing heavily under him and felt her slowly release him from her embrace. He then moved to lay on his back and as she was preparing to turn from him, he pulled her towards him, so that she’d lie on his chest and their legs brushed against each other.

“Sleep.” He whispered, and his arms settled around her, keeping her close and safe, Bellatrix let herself relax as he ran his fingers along her arms, “No one will ever take you there ever again.” He tightened his grip as if the thought of her in that place again disturbed him as much as it did her, “I **_promise_**.”

Bellatrix took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her head over his heart and let the restful sleep she’d been needing take her into its embrace. Finally, things were as they should be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bellatrix blinked as she woke up, alone, with the rare February sun streaking across her face. She felt its warmth and she breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed to warm her from inside out. A smirk settled on her lips. Even if she’d never be back to what she was… what and who she had been… She was here, and he was here and there was a war to win.

She jumped out of their bed and went into the bathroom. She took a shower and dressed in the clothes Narcissa had laid out for her all those weeks ago. A dark dress, the corset of course, and some high-heeled boots. She arranged her hair in a ponytail, which would be its main style for now and until she could get it under control. She put on make-up, hiding the dark circles beneath her eyes and a necklace to hide the hickey he had left on her neck and the tattoos that he didn’t like. She sighed as she walked towards the full-length mirror that sat in the middle of their chambers

She took a look in the mirror. She was different; thinner, weaker, **_madder_** than ever before, but she was herself. **_That_** , she knew. He wouldn’t want her if she wasn’t her and he wanted her; it was poor logic, but it worked for her. And she knew that worse days were ahead, that a single night with him couldn’t cure everything, but it was a start… And by the Gods, she could use a new start.

She rolled her shoulders to straighten her back and spared one last look in the mirror before consciously leaving the room for the first time in weeks.

She stepped into the corridor that lead to the main staircase which then took her right to where he was hosting the morning meeting with his most intimate advisors. The Inner Circle’s Inner Circle, as it were. Bellatrix walked purposely through the corridors, ignoring the portraits that whispered behind her back as soon as she passed them.   

As she finally reached the top of the staircase she heard a smash of something falling to the floor coming from behind her. Bellatrix turned to see her sister standing stock still, hands on her mouth and a suspiciously damp eyes at the sight of her out of bed and out of her chambers. Then, Bellatrix saw the tray Narcissa had been levitating behind her on the floor, tea and toast spilled on the floor. The breakfast Narcissa brought over to her every morning that had gone uneaten for days.

Bellatrix allowed her lips to curve tenderly at her youngest sister – at her **_only_** sister, her mind, as always forced her to correct herself – and with a wave of her wand, and considerably more strain that she needed before, restored the full tray to its former state, floating behind her still stunned sister. Bellatrix walked towards her sister and reached behind the blond woman to steal a single piece of toast from the tray. She bit into it before turned to her sister. 

“Hi, Cissa. Thank you for breakfast.” She kissed her stunned sister on her cheek and delighted in the way her baby sister’s blue-ish grey eyes widen at the first sign of affection she had started on her own since being back from that horrible little shithole of a prison.

Bellatrix descended the staircase and rounded to corner at the end of the stairs and ran to stop in front of the double doors of where the Inner Circle had their meeting. She took one last deep breath before pushing the doors open.

She burst into the meeting were Voldemort, Rodolphus, Greyback, Lucius, and Rookwood were leaning over the table, almost ripping the doors out of the frame with the ferocity with which she threw them open. The men turned their attention from the papers on the table to look at her.

Rookwood looked relieved to see her, probably just glad they hadn’t lost another soldier to the madness of Azkaban. Lucius remained passive and cold, but she could detect that a little of the ever-permeant fear in his eyes was gone, glad that she was there to protect him and his family from the Dark Lord’s anger at his cowardice. Rodolphus looked happy to see her, smiling at her, merely glad to see her up and about. And even Greyback had a grin on his face, terrifying and feral, eager to spar against her again.

But Voldemort was the only one she cared about and while he remained impassive and cold, there was a warmth to his eyes that hadn’t really been there yesterday. She nodded at him slightly, coaxing him into her mind, allowing him to navigate it however he wished as it had always been.

The men in the room look at her in surprise when the Dark Lord turned from Bellatrix to look at the table with a nod, smirk firmly on his lips, “Go on, Bella.”

“I have a plan.” Are her first words to the Inner Circle, her grey eyes glinting with a hint of the determination, fearlessness, fervour, and madness she is known for, “I know how to get Potter to the Ministry.”

The men traded looks before smiling and making room around the table, wordlessly inviting her to join in the meeting. She nodded at them in thanks, knowing that her absence had hurt the movement more than just a little bit. She made sure to touch the shoulders of each of the men before taking her place. As Bellatrix settled in at Voldemort’s right, the men couldn’t help but feel as if everything was back to the way it was supposed to be.

 


End file.
